


paint it, [red]

by hotelbooks



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Male Friendship, Soft Hockey Boys, That's it, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, max paints brendan's nails, that's the fic, the ultimate bros, they don’t kiss i swear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 15:40:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17368685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelbooks/pseuds/hotelbooks
Summary: despite knowing so much about brendan already, max knew he’d be learning more about his habits. he just didn’t know he’d be walking into one.





	paint it, [red]

**Author's Note:**

> so! everyone seems to be mourning over the loss of the gallys and no one's taken into consideration max and brendan's new beautiful and blossoming friendship. i've decided to be the first one to take a swing at it.
> 
> lowercase is intended, enjoy!

when max had first moved to montreal after the trade from arizona, he found himself almost embarrassed to meet his new team. although he had done it many times before; this, this was different. he had never been traded before, not at a professional level. it was different when he joined the ontario hockey league, and even his first steps onto the coyotes; he was a rookie, then, a young guy with no experience of the new challenges the new league brought him. every teammate he had ever had was always willing to lend a hand, or take him under their wing to make sure he got a proper feel, to make sure he was comfortable.

 

this was _so_ much different. he was no longer a little kid with no experience. he was a grown man with experience in a different conference, a different country, who had shoved around and got in the faces of half of these guys he was about to meet. it scared him shitless, honestly. he knew not everyone had to like him, that was a given; but it wouldn’t have been very good to have everyone hate him the minute he walked into the locker room.

 

of course, that’s when brendan gallagher came into the picture.

 

max had only seen gally when he was busy wreaking havoc in the crease. his favourite part of playing against montreal used to be trying to wipe that man’s _stupid_ grin off of his _stupid_ face, whether it be with a goal or a sneaky shove to one of his line mates (because, well, hitting _him_ only seemed to make it bigger, and max had never wanted to decapitate someone so bad in his entire life).

 

max expected brendan gallagher to be the most annoying, hateful, angry little ball of rage he had ever made contact with. of course, he was the exact opposite. in fact, gally was the first hab max had met over the summer, and he made sure max felt right at home. after getting to know him better at a team lunch near the end of august, brendan had invited him over for some drinks. max appreciated the gesture more than he’d like to admit.

 

it was starting to become a tradition, max realized as he pulled into brendan’s driveway. everyday the habs didn’t have a game, max would head over to gally’s after morning skate to have lunch and play whatever game gally had just bought for his playstation. it changed at least once a week, max realized, and gally would never complete a game he started. once he got bored of it, it was never touched again. max caught sight of the stack of old games piled up on the floor beside brendan’s tv every time he stepped foot into his living room. he wondered how much dust that stack had collected.

 

max didn’t bother knocking; he opened the door and slipped inside.

 

“gally?” max called out in greeting, hearing a quiet grumble from the living room, followed by the gentle _clink_ of glass on wood.

 

from his little time spent in montreal, max had learned a lot about gally. he learned that he was, probably, the most enthusiastic twenty-six year old he had ever met. he had the energy of a five year old after a good nap. he also learned that he was pretty funny, too. or, half the time he _thought_ he was funny, and he’s not, which, well - max thought that was pretty fucking hilarious. gally was weirdly competitive, and very quick to make bets he can’t win, because _oh, you’re doing leg presses? whoever can do more buys lunch!_ gally never wins.

 

max learned a lot about gally’s little quirks, too. he picked up on his pregame superstitions; how he wears one tie to every winning game until they lose, then he’s on to a different one, how he rubs this weird green german liquid all over his legs and insists the team call it pickle juice, and how he stretches his right leg before his left - _specifically._ another thing max learned about brendan was that he collects anything sports related, even if he doesn’t really care for that certain player or team. he learned that he accidentally stole some of his old teammate’s suits and that he kept two scooby doo plush dolls on his upstairs couches. they never moved. brendan was - well, brendan.

 

despite knowing so much about brendan already, max knew he’d be learning more about his habits. he just didn’t know he’d be walking into one.

 

max wandered into the living room to see gally cross-legged on the floor at his wooden coffee table, a panicked look on his face as he tried to clean a sparkly red liquid off of the surface with a paper towel. one hand was held up in the air, that same sparkly liquid on two of his nails. he looked up at max, and max watched as the colour drained from his face, his features contorted into a pained, embarrassed look.

 

“sorry,” brendan hissed. “i thought you’d be a bit longer, i didn’t even.. hear you come in-“

 

“gally, hey, _brendan_.” max frowned, sitting down next to him and helping wipe up the spilled nail polish from the table, using the little bottle of remover to wipe up any residue. “dude, breathe. it’s just nail polish.”

 

brendan looked up at max in a bit of shock, eyebrows furrowing as he leaned back a bit. “you.. you’re not weirded out?”

 

“you think paint would freak me out?” max flashed him an amused, yet assuring smile. “ _relax,_ seriously.”

 

brendan’s shoulder’s visibly dropped, and he looked down at his hands. he chuckled and grabbed a q-tip, dipping it in nail polish remover and rubbing it along the sides of his nail, where some polish had gotten up onto his skin. “i suck at this.” he explained quietly. “my sisters used to paint my nails for fun as a kid, to practice or whatever. i’ve never actually done it myself.”

 

“do you want help?” max asked, and brendan’s face went almost as red as his polish. “i used to paint my sister’s nails all the time. they’re coming down to visit soon, so i could use a bit of practice.” he joked lightly. brendan nodded, handing max the small bottle of nail polish and looking up at him with an almost grateful smile. max had never seen this side of gally, one that was trusting and honest - gally was honest, usually, but this version of gally was much more vulnerable; something that he didn’t show on the ice, or in the locker room. max could imagine how hard it was for gally to keep his positive spirits, especially since he served as an alternate captain. he made a mental note to make him smile more.

 

max took gally’s already started hand in his own, dipping the brush in the bottle and beginning to press gentle stroke of paint across the surface of his nail. brendan watched closely.

 

“take notes,” max teased, glancing up at the male across from him. he only rolled his eyes with a half grin. “whoever can paints your nails worse buys lunch.”

 

“oh, come _on,”_ gally hissed. “who says you make the bets? that’s not how this friendship works.”

 

“this friendship _won’t_ work if you don’t buy me lunch after this.” max raised an eyebrow. “i mean, i _am_ doing something nice for you.”

 

“fine.”

 

when he was finished with gally’s left hand, he set it down gently onto his thigh and motioned for the other one. max had to tilt his head and blink a few times at the sight of gally’s right hand. he hadn’t really noticed how messed up his hand truly was. he knew it had broken a few times, but he had never actually taken the time to examine the nasty scars riding up brendan’s fingers. he began painting the pinky nail.

 

“tell me about your hand.” max hummed out.

 

brendan explained how he took a nasty slap shot from boychuk back in 2015, which shattered his fingers on impact. max couldn’t help but cringe. brendan then went on to explain how the second break came from webs’ slap shot from the blue line, when gally was being a pest in front of the net - and, max had to laugh.

 

“i’m sorry, it’s not funny, but what a _gallagher_ injury to get.” max snickered. “of course, of _course_ you shattered your fingers trying to cause a riot in the crease. of _course_ you did.” at that, brendan joined him in a small fit of giggles.

 

“webby felt so bad. i’ve never seen the man look so heartbroken in his life. i didn’t even know he had emotions.”

 

“that’s a surprise to me too.”

 

“i guess the only way to get something out of the guy is to let him injure you.”

 

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

 

it was an easy, relaxing twenty minutes the two spent sat on gally’s living room floor. when max was finished the right hand, he added a second coat to the left, then to the right once more. gally blew on his freshly coated nails, waving his hand gently.

 

“nice colour?” he asked quietly. “i thought it would be fitting, because - well. you know, habs. red.”

 

“i figured.” max smiled, closing the lid of the bottle and setting it down on the table. “it’s nice. you might have matched it perfectly, too,” he added, holding up his t-shirt that was sporting the habs logo across his chest. he brought gally’s thumb against the fabric with a nod. “great pick.”

 

“you think the guys will say something?” brendan asked, and max watched as his demeanour suddenly shifted into one of a little boy who had just broken the back window with a baseball.

 

“about your nails? no. about your lack of painting skills? maybe.” max teased, hoping to lighten the mood, but gally still held that look of fear and unsureness across his features. max decided he hated that look. “gally, you’ve been on this team for what; five, six years, and you think your teammates would give you a hard time _now?_ they wouldn’t ever. seriously, bro, take a deep breath.”

 

brendan did take a deep breath. he looked down at his hands. “i don’t know, maybe i should take it off.”

 

“if you’re uncomfortable with it, you do what you feel is best. but i personally think you’re rocking it, and should be rocking it. seriously.” max nodded, and brendan looked up at him with hopeful eyes. “you wear whatever the fuck you want and don’t let anyone cramp your style. it’s yours.”

 

brendan gave max a hug. brendan wasn’t much of a hugger, from max’s experience, unless it was in celebration after a goal, or a quick ‘bro hug’ after a win or a good workout. this - this hug was warm, thankful, and open. this hug held a lot of emotion gally had probably bottled up in that small red bottle of nail polish, all of his fears and second-guesses pouring out of it when max pulled off the lid. max took a minute to hold brendan, long enough until brendan broke the hug. max figured brendan needed one. he’d been dealing with a lot regarding the loss of friends to the business of hockey, and the mask of accommodation for the new guys as he helped them settle into their new home that was montreal. max considered how hard it was to be open and trusting to new people, and how much courage it probably took for brendan to be so relaxed and unguarded around the fear of judgement he was facing.

 

“besides, you wouldn’t want to take off all of this after the hard work and dedication i just put into it, would you?” max joked, causing brendan to chuckle as he pulled away.

 

“i guess not.”

 

brendan bought max whatever he wanted for lunch. he even bought desert, despite their meal plans. they both agreed that they deserved it after such a commitment.

 

the next day, the montreal media asked gally about his new polish. gally smiled at them and simply stated he was ‘supporting his team any way he could.’ max watched him with a gentle smile, watched how he held up his hand and glanced at the red of his nails and flashed a genuine smile, one that was rarely shown to the media. max watched as whenever gally was asked about them, he told them that it was for his team. he wore the polish with confidence, and it wasn’t a mask he had put on either; he was _radiating_ with positivity, happiness. this was opposite of what max saw from brendan while they sat on his living room floor. he was much quieter, much softer, and much more held back as he worried about what anyone would think of them. gally had decided, _fuck_ anyone else; they were his nails, and if he wanted to wear polish, he could.

 

instead of the burning flare of fear across gally’s features, his smile was a glowing presence in the locker room. 

 

max liked it better that way.


End file.
